“Later,” he said, reading my mind. His hands tightening on me, his jaw clenching like he was fighting something. “We’ll talk later. Right now, let’s just get back.”
I nodded, even though my stomach was churning with uncertainty. Even though fear was starting to creep in around the edges of the bliss. I was terrified that this meant more to me than it did to him.
Because last night had changed everything.
And I had no idea what came next.
CHAPTER NINE
Crew
The drive back was long and quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of silence that presses against your ribs until you can’t breathe right.
The heater rattled, the tires hissed over packed snow, and every time the wipers swept by, I caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window—jaw tight, hands fisted in her lap, pretending she wasn’t sitting next to me thinking about how deep I’d been inside her an hour ago.
She didn’t say a damn thing the whole way. Did she realize I’d confessed things with my body that my mouth was too cowardly to say?
I could still smell her on my skin. Still taste her. There was still the phantom sensation of her wrapped around me, tight and hot and perfect. And the sounds she’d made.
My hands ached to reach for her. My body was still thrumming with need despite how thoroughly I’d taken her. And the silence. Fuck, the silence was killing me. Because it meant she was thinking. Overthinking. Building walls and finding reasons why this couldn’t work.
By the time I hit the turnoff for the mill, my knuckles were white on the steering wheel and my chest was tight with something that felt too much like fear. I couldn’t do another mile of this silence. Not from her.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?” I asked. My words were edged with the frustration and fear I was trying to hold back.
She didn’t look at me. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“That right?” The words came out harsh, disbelieving.
Her shoulders lifted, slow and careful, like she was afraid anything louder than a whisper would break whatever was left between us.
“You’ve barely said two words to me since we left.”
Her breath hitched. I watched her throat work, watched her hands clench tighter in her lap. “Maybe I don’t know what to say.”
I pulled the truck to the side of the road, tires crunching over snow. The sky was gray and heavy, the kind that promised another storm before nightfall. My heart was pounding, adrenaline spiking like I was heading into combat. Because this felt just as dangerous. This felt like I could lose everything that mattered.
“Then I’ll start,” I said.
She turned, eyes wide. Eyes full of fear and want and uncertainty that made my chest ache. “Crew—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t give me some polite brush-off. You’re sitting there acting like nothing happened. Like I didn’t fucking claim you, Charlotte.”
Her cheeks flushed hot, pink rising from her collar. “You think saying it like that helps?”
“I think it’s the truth,” I growled.
She crossed her arms, trying to put a wall between us that wasn’t there anymore. I knew she was trying to protect herself from me, from this, from the inevitable hurt she thought was coming.
“You came here as a favor to Race. You work the season. Then you move on. That’s the truth.”
Was that what she thought? That I’d touched her like that, claimed her like that, made her mine like that—and then just walk away? “Is it?”
She finally looked at me. Really looked at me, and I saw it all there—the fear, the vulnerability, the desperate hope she was trying to kill before it could hurt her. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because you know better.”
